


O Brother, Where Art Thou?

by Descaladumidera, vaderina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Multi, Percival somehow joined the picture, Rape, Threesome, Who would have thought?, and grindelwald is a dick, but Newt is a caring little brother, but we are trying, collaring, dub-con, even though he doesn't think he deserves it, happy end, he has so many self-doubts, lots of love for Theseus, non-con, self-hate, this is a pity-party for Theseus, we are really bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descaladumidera/pseuds/Descaladumidera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderina/pseuds/vaderina
Summary: Theseus never felt he lived up to the expectations of War Hero. In fact he never felt like he lived up to much at all. But the more Theseus saw and loathed his flaws, the more Newt embraced them and showed him that he was worth loving. Until Grindelwald decided to meddle.





	O Brother, Where Art Thou?

**Author's Note:**

> _A big thank you to[Truetomorrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Truetomorrow/profile) for beta reading this monster!_

 

Nobody knew he had self-esteem issues. Theseus hid them well in public. But when it came to matters of the bedroom he became a blushing, stumbling, shaking mess. Somehow he found it easier when he spent time with women—they weren’t a comparison and reflection of his own inadequacies. His height wasn’t an issue, he was usually taller than them, he didn’t have to worry about who was more muscular, whether he had more scars. Mostly he was ashamed of the scars that littered his body, all the imperfections that made him want to shy away and hide. He might have been a man, tall, muscular, skilled—but with these things came expectations. And he was so afraid that he couldn’t meet them.

Every time he saw Newt he saw a younger, better version of himself. Little did he know Newt also hid his own scars and worries. Newt was softer, more lovable with no hard edges. He was adorably awkward and if you got to know him you just _had_ to love him. If you got to know Theseus, you’d soon realise that he wasn’t the hero everyone wanted him to be.

Theseus both loved and hated spending time with Newt. He got to bask in his soft glow, his happiness and contentment was contagious. But when he left, Theseus felt like he’d been thrown out into the cold of the night. But he hated seeing Newt, too, because he was jealous of everything his little brother had achieved seemingly so effortlessly. It was not fair.

He didn’t see what he himself had accomplished, didn’t see how wonderful he was. He only saw Newt and all the perfection in his little brother. And if he was honest with himself—Newt was the better version of Theseus. Newt was the better man, always had been.

It hit Theseus like a brick to the face and before he could stop himself, he grabbed onto Newt’s sleeve. “Please … Please don’t go. Stay,” he begged, blue eyes wide, the plea evident in them.

And wonderful Newt sat down next to him on the couch. Entertained the whims of his older, battered and hardened brother. It was never a question of leaving him, merely giving him the time and space to flourish. Newt thought that perhaps without him around Theseus would find himself, become a happy, confident man in his own right. He wasn’t naive enough to not see the shadow he cast on his older brother.

Somehow they ended up with Theseus’ head in Newt’s lap, Newt’s fingers raked through neatly styled hair. His brother was mumbling soothing nothings and Theseus let the words wash over him, calm him. He didn’t notice that he was crying until a calloused thumb gently brushed over his wet cheeks, smearing the tear tracks.

“I love you, Theseus. You are perfect just as you are. You are a good man—a better man than you think yourself to be.”

And Theseus didn’t know what to do with that. At first he wanted to run. But before, when he did run, it was straight to Newt and now he wanted to run from him—but had nowhere to go. So he stayed, and he tried to pull himself together, be the fierce war hero that people expected him to be, that he tried so hard to be. But Newt’s thumb brushing over his cheek felt too good. He nuzzled into the warm palm, uncaring in his contentment, as Newt’s eyes darkened with desire.

“You don’t need to be strong with me,” Newt whispered suddenly and placed a gentle kiss against Theseus’ temple. It was a hot, scorching feeling against his skin, warming his whole body. And it was in that moment that Theseus realised how much he craved some human contact. How utterly touch starved he was. And he nuzzled his face against Newt’s belly, heaving a shuddering sigh as his fingers clawed into the soft fabric of his brother’s shirt.

“I need you,” he whispered brokenly, not knowing where the words came from. But they tumbled out of his mouth, needy and weak. “I need you.”

Gently Newt nudged Theseus to sit up, ignoring his questioning stare, and pulled him onto his lap. After some wiggling Theseus was straddling his lap, unable to tear his eyes from Newt’s mouth. For his part Newt let everything happen at his brother’s pace; he’d be happy to wait if that was what Theseus wanted and needed. But he gratefully accepted the press of dry lips against his, while shaking hands clutched at his shoulders.

Theseus didn’t know what he was doing or why he was doing it—it just happened. And it felt good. He couldn’t be bothered to think about his actions or why his brain (his heart, his stupid, traitorous heart) thought this was a good idea.

Newt’s lips against his were firm and slightly chapped, as if he had just been out and about, chasing some beast. The thought made him smile and he pressed his mouth just a bit more firmly against Newt’s, sighing softly at the oh so good feeling.

When Newt’s hands wandered up, cupping the back of his neck, a shiver ran down his spine and he shifted just so slightly. The tenderness drove him insane and he wondered if this was what it felt like to be … well, just liked. To be seen as a human being instead of a hero.

Newt just let it happen, his hands warm on Theseus’ back, gently guiding him back for kisses. He didn’t say anything when fingers softly unbuttoned his shirt. Instead he let Theseus look his fill, comfortable in a way Theseus never had been in his own body. There were scars running down Newt’s chest, bite marks, claw marks and some that looked suspiciously like curse marks. It didn’t detract from Newt’s beauty though, Theseus mused to himself as he let fingers trace the raised marks. It told a story of Newt, added to his perfection whereas his own told the stories of his insufficiencies, cruel reminders of where he’d failed to be good enough. Theseus dipped his head to ghost his lips over a scratch, freshly healed and still pink across Newt’s collarbone.

He didn’t expect the slight twitch of Newt’s hips under him at the contact, the way Newt’s fingers tightened in his hair and pulled him closer. Theseus didn’t expect the slight whimper that escaped him either, didn’t expect the needy feeling deep in his guts. He didn’t expect Newt’s hands, gripping his hair, to feel so good. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, his pulse loud in his ears as he mouthed gently along Newt’s collarbone, hot breath ghosting over sensitive skin. And Newt squirmed under him, hips brushing together deliciously, the buttons of their pants clinked together.

“Seus … Seus, shh, everything’s alright.” Newt’s words were slightly slurred and Theseus stilled. He didn’t realise that he was trembling, his whole body shivering with the new sensation of being wanted.

Newt’s arms tightened around him, holding him close. A hot mouth brushed against his temple, trailed over his ear, warm breath grazed his skin. It made him shiver even more, made him press against Newt’s lithe body, feeling every curve and every edge against his own.

“Newt …” His voice was weak, muffled against flushed, freckled skin.

The hand in his hair loosened and Newt brought Theseus close to him, chest resting against heaving chest. His mouth never left Theseus’ skin, ghosting gently over his neck and shoulder. Theseus didn’t know when Newt pulled his shirt open so he could softly nip at his shoulder—if he had realised, he’d have probably shied away from the idea, so conscious of the scar that curled over it and down his back. Yet it didn’t seem to phase Newt; he didn’t linger on the scar, just pressed warm lips to it and moved on to unblemished skin. It was a relief for Theseus—previous partners had either been fascinated by his heroic scars and lavished unwanted attention on them or were repulsed to the point they couldn’t even look at them, let alone touch them. Newt did neither though, just gave it the same amount of attention as any other patch of skin and moved on.

Theseus whined into Newt’s neck, hips pushing down despite himself, searching out contact and reassurance in any way he could. Newt’s arm round his waist tightened and pulled him down, closer, while the hand in his hair resumed its meandering strokes. He was desperate—for attention, for affection. For anything that showed him that he was wanted, that he was needed. It was intoxicating, being so close to Newt, being able to touch him, to taste him, to smell him. Theseus would have never have thought that he would one day revel in Newt’s scent. In the scent of fresh pine needles and clean soap, in the scent of earth and dew. It was all Newt. Theseus felt like he was on drugs, caught in an ecstasy never known to him before.

He would have given anything to let this moment last, to have Newt so close to him, to have him touch him. To _have_ him … _love_ him. He would have done anything to just _have_ Newt.

“Please,” he whispered and realised with shame that his voice was cracking, that he was so, so weak. But Newt didn’t seem to care, keeping up his gentle caressing, touching him, kissing him, worshipping every inch of his naked skin.

Theseus didn’t know how it happened, but he found himself on his back, taking up all the space on the couch. But Newt was there, right over him, their bodies pressed together. And there was no question anymore if Newt was as enamoured with the situation as Theseus was, his hard length pressed against Theseus’ thigh. It was embarrassing, really. Making out with his baby brother.

But it felt so good and Theseus couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Theseus let Newt dictate the pace. For once he didn’t have to be the one in charge, the one people looked to for direction, for orders. He could just _be_ and trust Newt to catch him. But at the same time he couldn’t bear it if Newt moved away from him, so he wrapped his legs round Newt’s hips, pulled him closer and softly demanded everything Newt was willing to give.

The kisses were unrelenting, they drove all thought from Theseus’ mind and he could finally lose himself in the feeling. Fingers trailed down his neck, soft lips and hard teeth against his mouth, the press of Newt’s hard cock against his. It was too much and not enough. The whimpers and keens that slipped from his throat seemed to encourage Newt to push down onto him, weighing him down into the couch.

Without much thought Theseus tightened his legs around Newt, pulled him closer and rolled his hips mindlessly, pleasure a secondary thought to just having Newt as his and only his. Something that he hadn’t managed to taint and ruin over the years. His little brother still just as sweet and pure as he’d always been and something not even Theseus’ murky life could dampen.

Newt seemed to understand what Theseus needed—of course, he always did, perceptive and clever as he was. Theseus had always known it, had known that his little brother was special. Not the awkward kind of special like everyone else saw him, but the kind of special that made him unique, made him wonderful. These thoughts made him all dizzy, made him press a firm kiss against Newt’s forehead.

Large, green eyes looked up at him in wonder and Theseus smiled at the pure adoration in his brother’s gaze. His hand came up to gently sweep some mussed up, auburn curls out of Newt’s face, fingers lingering on freckled, heated skin, relishing the feeling. Newt’s eyes fluttered shut.

It was as if Theseus had pushed a button, Newt suddenly rolling his hips more frantically, bringing friction to his nearly forgotten cock. Lips and teeth locked on his neck and one firm press made him moan, head thrown back, exposing his throat. Like a submissive animal.

A low growl reached his ears, sharp teeth nipping at his abused skin, tongue lapping at the mark Newt had just left.

For a moment Newt leaned back and admired the mark.

“Perhaps I should get you a collar,” he rumbled, “to remind you that you’re very, very much wanted. That you belong. To me and only me.”

It was an image that made Theseus gasp, heart thundering as Newt’s hand wrapped around his throat in a cheap imitation of a collar. His hips bucked up in desperation and anticipation. Theseus wanted to be owned, be someone’s prized possession, something to be cherished, not something to be milked dry and discarded when his wallet and name no longer served their intended purpose. The idea of belonging to Newt pushed him over the edge—he gasped at the blinding pleasure and whimpered when it became too much. Above him Newt stilled and watched him.

Shame flooded through Theseus. His brother was still hard and wanting above him, while he’d taken his own pleasure and offered nothing in return. Newt deserved better than that. He deserved more than Theseus could ever give him. The blissful high quickly plummeted to a despair he’d rarely felt and there was nothing he could do against the burn of tears.

He bit his lip hard to keep the tears from falling, the pain a welcome distraction from his raging emotions. And Newt was still over him, sporting a smirk at the discovery of what turned his brother on. But the smirk was slowly fading, his muddy green eyes fixed on Theseus’ blue ones, undoubtedly seeing the unshed tears in them. Immediately Theseus turned his face away, only to be pulled back by a gentle hand. Thumbs were brushing under his eyes, taking care of the hot tears that threatened to spill and he could hardly suppress a sob.

“It’s alright, Seus, I have you,” Newt whispered and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his bitten raw lips, a welcome warmth against the cold that sought home in his body. “You are good. We are good.”

No, they weren’t good. Not with Theseus being unable to give as much as he received. With more determination and want than he had felt before, he lowered his hands to Newt’s hips, his grip gentle, not wanting to bruise. His thumbs brushed over the edge of Newt’s trousers, touching soft skin, making his brother’s belly quiver with a reaction to the tickling touch. With a last coy look into Newt’s eyes, Theseus let his hands wander to the front of his brother’s slacks, cupping his hard cock through the fabric.

“I want you to feel good,” he said quietly, his voice trembled only slightly.

Newt sighed before he took Theseus’ hand away. The rejection stung and his lips wobbled. As though his tears weren’t humiliating enough as it was.

“I can wait. I want to make sure you’re okay.” Newt’s voice was soft, sad and curled around Theseus like a heavy blanket.

“I’m okay,” he mumbled stubbornly even as he fought the tears. His trousers were becoming uncomfortable as the damp patch cooled, but he was determined to ignore it in favour of Newt.

“And I’m the Queen of Scotland,” Newt said with a small smile. “Seus, I know you, I love you. I will wait for you. There’s no rush.”

Theseus whined stubbornly, his hand palmed at Newt more insistently. All he wanted was to show Newt that he cared, he was worth Newt’s time. A firm hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Let’s make a deal. We’ll get you cleaned up, then we’ll take this to the bedroom. If you still want this, we’ll make it work. Deal?” Newt smiled and made to get off the couch, away from Theseus, and the cold he left behind hurt. Only when Newt reached a hand to help pull Theseus up did the pain abate a little.

Theseus stumbled to his feet, his legs still a bit wobbly from the unexpected orgasm. If he was quite honest with himself, he couldn’t remember the last time he had had something akin to sex. Not like this. Not this intense.

Newt’s hand in his was warm, like a fire in the deep of December, when snow covered the Highlands, burying the lively green underneath it. And for the first time in a long time Theseus felt truly alive, being led by Newt to the bathroom.

Reassured that Newt hadn’t been repulsed by his body before, by his scars, by the obvious signs that he had failed again and again and again, he began to shed his shirt. But Newt stopped him in his actions, gentle hands lying on his shoulders. The skin on skin contact was scorchingly hot, cold having seeped into Theseus’ very being.

Newt was nothing but careful, removing the shirt slowly, always looking him in the eyes. And Theseus concentrated on the deep feelings in them, got lost in his brother’s tender gaze while Newt undressed him.

A slight flush crept up his body when he was finally naked, making him uneasy. He had always been embarrassed about the way his traitorous skin felt the need to show off how deeply red his blood could colour it. From the tips of his ears, over his cheeks, his neck, down to his chest. All a dark pink, clashing violently with his auburn hair and his too many freckles, with the stark white of old scars.

He tried to hide behind his arms, but Newt pried them away, licking his lips. “You are beautiful.”

Nobody had ever called him beautiful before. It made his loathed blush deepen further while Newt looked him over.

“Would you feel more comfortable if I lost my clothes too?”

Theseus nodded shyly and watched as his brother peeled himself out of layers of clothes. Each item fell to the ground in a pile and it revealed a little more of Newt’s body for his scrutiny. There were scars, more than Theseus himself had. And the blush Newt’s cheeks sported seemed to stretch down to his chest much like his own. But while Theseus felt his flush jarred horribly with his complexion it seemed so endearing on Newt.

“See, you’re not so bad after all,” Newt teased and reached for Theseus. He guided them into the bathtub and turned the water on. After a few silent minutes where Newt just held him close he picked up a sponge and began to wipe Theseus clean. He’d assumed that once clean Newt would lead them out of the bathroom but instead the plug slid into place and bubble bath poured into the tub, sticky around their toes. It made Theseus grimace and Newt laughed delighted at his expression. The water filled the tub and Newt encouraged his brother to sit down with him, back to his chest. Newt nuzzled against his neck, and breathed in the scent of his hair. Wet fingers trailed across Theseus’ chest—first lightly, then more firmly until he sagged against Newt. Lazily he turned his head for a wet kiss and Newt willingly went with it. Once his neck began to hurt, Theseus flipped over and lost himself to the kiss, while Newt’s hand settled on his butt and pulled him closer.

It was slippery and not at all comfortable, crouching in front of Newt, hands braced on his brother’s shoulders. His knees hurt from the hard surface of the tub and Theseus shifted, mouth never leaving his brother’s wet skin, lips ghosting over every inch he could reach. But he knew he needed to find a better position.

Still ashamed of his nakedness, he shifted again, Newt being able to see every part of him. But what did it matter? Newt _had_ already seen. Newt knew how he looked like—that Theseus looked like a worse version of himself. More broken. More shattered. Not the man everyone thought him to be, hiding behind a smile, behind a confidence he didn’t possess in the private of his own home.

“It’s alright, Seus,” Newt coaxed, wet hands wandering from his butt to his hips, settling there, guiding him. And slowly, oh so slowly, he let himself be led into Newt’s lap, both legs engulfing his brother on both sides of his waist, straddling him. It was almost like an embrace.

Newt’s hands were still on his hips, holding him, waiting until his breath evened out, until he was calm again. Theseus needed some time. A minute passed, maybe two. But he finally relaxed against his brother’s steady body, against the warmth he provided, against heated skin, sticky from the water between them. They were so close.

“Better?” Newt asked and Theseus nodded, not trusting his own voice not to break. It was too hard to speak right now, felt too much like he would choke if he tried. “Hey, calm. Deep breaths,” Newt coaxed softly and Theseus followed his orders, his body grateful for the provided oxygen. It was like he shut down whenever he was close to Newt, whenever Newt showered him with attention, with affection, with touches. Whenever Newt showed him the kindness Theseus was sure he didn’t deserve.

He said as much. “I don’t deserve you.” His voice was low, a barely audible whisper against his brother’s invitingly red lips. Theseus wanted to kiss them so badly. “I don’t deserve you,” he repeated and closed the gap, his eyes falling shut.

He could feel the slight protest Newt tried to build up, but he only pressed their lips more firmly together until Newt sighed and relaxed. Hands wandered from his hips to his back, settling on the nape of his neck, toying with the short, soft hair there. It was almost like a lover’s caress and Theseus sighed in contentment.

They stayed like that until the water began to cool around them. A shiver ran through Newt and Theseus pulled away, disgusted at himself. Once again he’d taken everything Newt had to offer and more, but didn’t think about what Newt wanted or needed. An apology was ready on his lips when Newt gently shushed him.

“Perhaps warm up with me in bed?” Newt’s sly smile held the promise of something more. Dumbly Theseus nodded and let Newt bundle him into a towel before leading them to the bedroom. There, he was guided to the bed and gently pushed down. His brother towelled his hair like when they were children and crawled under the blanket.

They curled up, Newt’s arms looped easily around his waist and pulled him close. The kiss started slow, almost an afterthought to everything before. Theseus let Newt dictate the pace, the pressure slowly mounted and he willingly gave way to it all. When Newt broke off the kiss it was to pepper his cheeks and face with more, featherlight brushed of his lips and to roll Theseus onto his back. As he lay under his brother Theseus got to appreciate the view of Newt towering over him, a body of firm muscles, soft freckles and skin which told stories of bravery and daring. It left him feeling vulnerable and small on the bed, open to scrutiny and nowhere to hide. His arms began to creep across his chest defensively but Newt wasn’t having any of it. Once again warm hands circled his wrist and gently pulled them above his head.

“Don’t move,” Newt murmured, eyes tracking down the body below him. The first kiss landed on the inside of Theseus’ arm over a scar from the time he’d tackled an assailant only to forget that wizards could use muggle weapons and he’d taken a knife to the soft part of his upper arm. Another kiss, this one on his ribs—a childhood injury from when he and Newt had tried to built a treehouse. When they’d deemed it done, Theseus, being the older, had the privilege of going in first. His self-entitlement had been Newt’s saviour as the construct had collapsed under his weight and he’d plummeted to the ground. Even so many years later he wasn’t sure what hurt more, the debris landing on and around him or his pride.

“You’re beautiful Seus,” Newt whispered in his ear. “Just the way you are. I wish you could see what I see.”

The praise made him squirm uncomfortably. It wasn’t something he was used to, wasn’t something he knew to be true. But Newt had never lied to him before, why would he start now? The kisses continued down his body, sometimes Newt would get distracted as he traced the constellation of his freckles with his tongue but eventually he’d remember whatever task he’d set his mind to and continue. No matter how distracted he got though, he’d always return to whisper into Theseus’ ear about how much he loved him, looked up to him, adored him. How Theseus was beautiful, perhaps even more so because he didn’t realise it himself. Newt ventured lower with each passing kiss until he came to a choice.

“Either I can continue down your legs,” he looked Theseus in the eyes, “or I could suck your cock until you forget everything. And choosing one now doesn’t exclude the other option as something to do later.”

Theseus’ breath hitched in his throat, shame burning under his skin at the far too open talk. Of course Newt would be upfront about all of this—for him it was natural. Sex, nudity, being bare and open and raw, that was how nature intended them to be. And Newt knew this. But for Theseus … for Theseus this was too much. He couldn’t be as open about this as his brother, especially not when he felt this embarrassed about himself, not when he knew how much of a failure he was. Newt shouldn’t see him like this—shouldn’t treat him like he was special and worthy of the love that was bestowed upon him.

And of course he was too ashamed to say anything, to admit his wants and desires. But Newt waited for an answer.

Tears of shame burned in his eyes, stung like the bite of a dragon, when his hand carded through his brother’s hair, fingers tightening in the soft strands. Newt looked at him, inquiringly, and Theseus took a deep breath before tugging him gently to his hard cock, lying weeping against his belly. He didn’t dare look at his brother, eyes fixed on the wall to his right, tears clinging to his bright lashes.

But Newt seemed to get the hint, calloused hands trailed a path up and down his sides, outlining the shape of his ribs, fingers brushed like the kiss of a lover over his muscles, taut under his skin. Theseus could tell that he tried to ease him into it, tried to make him relax, and he forced himself to let his tense muscles go lax, forced his body to melt into the mattress under Newt’s gentle ministrations.

When he was lying soft and pliant amongst the cushions, tears staining his cheeks in humiliation, Newt’s lips began to trail over his cock, tongue darting out, leaving saliva in its wake. And Theseus gasped quietly. He had to strain his own ears to hear the faint sound, escaping his throat traitorously. But it was there, there was no denying it. And he let it be heard again. And again. While Newt worked him steadily, lovingly to the edge, to the dark abyss Theseus could see himself falling into.

Eyes closed he concentrated on every little touch, every move of Newt’s chapped lips against his sensitive shaft, tongue lapping over his tip, dipping into his slit, teasing, caressing. Theseus tried to be quiet, tried to not let out a sound, tried to make himself invisible. But Newt didn’t let him, working expertly to draw whimpers and gasps, pants and moans out of him, making his blush go darker, making his embarrassment even more obvious.

“Shh, I have you, Seus. Brother …” Newt’s breath was hot against his saliva wet cock, making it twitch in anticipation, eliciting a moan, coming deep from his throat. “With me you can just be, you don’t have to pretend.”

Theseus felt Newt move back up his body with a trail of open mouthed kisses, light nips drew breathless little moans from him. It was only when Newt straddled him with a final kiss that the reality of their situation dawned on Theseus once again. He’d been too caught up in himself to notice that while Newt lavished Theseus’ cock with attention he’d also been busy stretching himself open. How he’d missed the sound of the bottle of slick being opened was beyond him and Theseus felt himself sink further into the pit of self loathing he’d dug himself.

“I want you to stop thinking, Seus,” Newt murmured. “Just feel.”

There wasn’t much else for Theseus to do then as Newt slowly sank down over his cock. His hands fluttered on his hips, unsure of their welcome, until Newt grabbed them firmly and put them on his body.

“Touch as much as you want. I’m yours.”

And wasn’t that a heady thought. His Newt, his baby brother all his in ways Theseus barely even dared to dream of by himself. It made a whimper claw at his throat, the idea of Newt freely tying himself to such a burden. A damaged burden at that. Fingers buried in his hair and Newt growled at him.

“What did I tell you about thinking?” It did the trick though, Theseus let his thoughts drift far away as he let himself be dragged into a purely physical world. Newt, slowly but surely riding him, a little tilt to his hips as he sought his own pleasure as well as giving. His hands went from Theseus’ hair to his chest, a firm press as he balanced. It occurred to Theseus that he should probably take part not just lie there and let Newt do all the hard work. He could give Newt something in this and he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. As Newt lowered himself down again Theseus pushed up, it jostled Newt and he pressed more of his weight into Theseus. It felt good, grounding against the mounting pleasure. He took a moment to admire Newt towering above him, the way the muscles in his legs bunched, his cock curved up towards his stomach. The flush that spread over his chest, mouth slightly open on each gasp when Theseus got the angle just right and his eyes fluttered closed in pleasure before he forced them open to look down on Theseus and smile.

“Still with me?”

“Always.”

It gave Theseus the boost to not just push up into Newt but also let his hands roam.

He explored his brother’s body shyly, hands barely touching heated skin. But Newt looked at him, all sharp, so different to the looks he usually bestowed upon him. It made Theseus shiver, his fingers digging into Newt’s skin, probably leaving bruises. But this stare … it made something in him snap, something he hadn’t known before. It was as if he wanted to be commanded. As if he wanted to _obey_.

“You are so beautiful, you are doing so well. All good for me.” Newt’s voice was rough, strangled from the pleasure as Theseus bucked up into him again, angle exactly right to elicit a moan that could only be described as erotic. It made him whimper like a hurt, scared animal, eyes closing, so he wouldn’t have to see the disgust written on his brother’s face.

He didn’t anticipate the sudden soft press of lips against his own, the gentle prying of a tongue, licking into his mouth, hands framing his sweaty face, thumbs brushing over the stubble on his chin. And it felt so good, so utterly good. Another whimper escaped his throat, followed by a moan when Newt clenched around him, gasping into his mouth, sharing breath.

“Newt … Newtnewtnewt,” he chanted, open mouthed, against kiss swollen lips, whenever he sank into the velvety heat of his brother’s hole. It was like a spell, enchanting him, making him tremble, his fingers digging painfully into the soft flesh of bony hips. “Newtnewtnewt—”

“Shh, I have you, brother, shh … Breathe for me,” Newt whispered, short of breath, and Theseus’ eyes snapped open. Suddenly everything was too bright, too much, his breathing getting laboured, his hips stuttering, slapping against Newt’s ass as he hit home again and again. And Newt was looking at him, all adoringly, all lovingly. It made his heart ache painfully in his chest, a sob climbing up his clogged throat, breaking free.

He was crying again, openly sobbing, while Newt shushed him, kissing him, thumbs working to clear his face from tears. And he wanted to apologise, wanted Newt to forgive him for being so weak, for being such a mess. A broken, unlovable mess, that wasn’t deserving of the attention of such a perfect human being like his brother.

“Don’t think, brother.” There was his order again and Theseus clenched his jaw shut, trying to get rid of all the intruding thoughts. It was hard, so hard.

“I c—can’t!” He finally said, voice breaking.

“You can and you will.” There was no room for argument in Newt’s tone. The hand on his cheek was unyielding as it forced him to look up at his brother through his tears. The world was a blur, his breath came in short puffs which were stolen away from him with firm lips. It calmed him, the utter ownership Newt declared on his body and his mind—but something was still missing. His mind was a whirl of loathing and doubt which he just couldn’t quiet. Newt grunted and Theseus realised that his hands had curled around Newt’s shoulders, nails bit into the skin to leave little half crescents.

“I have an idea,” Newt breathed and he pulled away. It took every bit of control for Theseus to not cry at being left cold and alone on the bed. He’d softened in his misery and slipped free from Newt too easily, much like how he imagined love to slip from his fingers because he wasn’t good enough to hold onto it. His brother shushed him softly and didn’t go far, just to the dresser where he rummaged through the drawers.

With a triumphant hum Newt turned, something clutched in his hand. He returned to the bed, easily straddled Theseus’ hips and watched as his eyes tracked the piece of silky ribbon that ran through his fingers. Without asking permission Newt lowered the silk and looped it round his throat.

“Whenever you wear this, you don’t have to think. You don’t have to worry. Just let me take care of everything. Take care of you, okay?” Theseus nodded dumbly and Newt graced him with an easy smile. “Wonderful. You’re mine to look after now. Mine to cherish, to love, to please. And nobody can tell you otherwise. Not even you. If you like it, we’ll get you a proper collar. It’ll remind you that you belong, even if I’m not there to tell you myself.”

It sounded too good to be true and Theseus felt his eyes well up once again with tears. Nobody should want him this much, nobody should be burdened and weighed down by his failures. He wasn’t good enough for Newt. Heck, he couldn’t even have sex without it turning into a miserable, tear-filled mess. Why Newt would want him was beyond any rational thought. A hand around his wrist guided his fingers to his own throat where he could feel the ribbon.

“Feel it? You’re mine and you’re perfect just the way you are. Now stop thinking.”

His trembling fingers grazed the silky fabric, calloused fingertips barely feeling the softness. But it was there, a light weight around his throat. Newt meant it. He really meant it. It felt so good to belong—and he knew his brother wouldn’t drop him like everyone else had. Newt never would. He always took care of the beasts he took in and Theseus was sure he took care of his lovers as well.

Lovers. That was such a foreign thought for Theseus. Especially if one of said lovers was his baby brother—and he himself was the other one. It was surreal. But here they were, Newt straddling him, the heat of his body engulfing him in the most comfortable way possible. And Theseus wanted to give in.

He nodded, reluctantly. “I’m yours,” he whispered, voice hoarse from tears, throat raw. It hurt to speak and Newt seemed to sense it, leaning down to stop any other words that might come out of his mouth with a kiss.

Instead of resuming their previous activities, Newt slipped off of him, lying down next to him. Their bodies were pressed together from head to toe and Theseus turned his head so their foreheads were touching. It was grounding, in a way, to feel his brother’s touch along his whole body and he heaved a shuddering sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. With his vision going dark he could pretend that everything was alright.

“Theseus, you are still thinking.” His brother’s breath was equally as soft and warm against his face as his voice. Theseus relaxed without being able to stop himself from doing so, Newt being a far too calming presence to resist.

There was a hand, carding through his hair, gently, tenderness evident in every stroke. And Newt didn’t stop, still breathing against his mouth, and Theseus found himself breathing in time, calming down even more, until he was lax in the covers, pressed against the grounding, warm body next to him, seeking comfort while his miserable mind tried to rest. It was a process that took minutes, maybe an hour, possibly even two—Theseus didn’t know. He had lost track of time. But Newt was nothing if not patient, his hand never stopping its soft ministrations.

“Theseus? You still with me?” He whispered and Theseus wanted to nod but his head felt so heavy that he was just able to make a huffing sound, probably too weak to be heard. But Newt apparently heard it anyway, saying, “Good” and nothing more, keeping petting him. It was nice, really. He could just be, thinking about nothing, just concentrating on the here and now, while firm fingers scraped over his scalp.

  


* * *

 

After that fateful afternoon things seemed to settle for Theseus. He felt more centred, more focused, and he knew that if he had a bad day, Newt would simply pull him into his lap and tuck his head into the crook of his shoulder until he was ready to face the world again. Some days it took just a few minutes before Theseus would uncurl and press a soft kiss to the corner of Newt’s mouth. Other days, though, it would be a few hours and he’d feel rotten for stretching Newt’s patience so far. However, his brother never said anything, merely worked around the body curled in his lap. Once or twice he’d offer bites of food up for Theseus to take, but he’d never force him to face the world until he was absolutely ready to.

They ended up buying Theseus a proper collar. On good days Theseus would get home and if he needed it, he could take the collar to Newt and offer it to him. Theseus loved cold days the most because those days he could go to work in a scarf, collar firmly clasped around his throat and he had part of Newt with him all day then. Theseus loved the collar, he really did, but it wasn’t the same as the strip of ribbon which moved from pocket to pocket as Theseus got dressed each morning. It was that first strip of ribbon Newt had tied around his throat to claim him. It carried the memories even when the ribbon became tattered, dirty and frayed. When Theseus was in meetings, in stressful situations, he could just wrap the ribbon around his fingers and draw strength from that. Nobody dared mention the fact that the revered war hero occasionally went into a wand fight with a dirty scrap of ribbon wrapped around his fist. They just assumed it was superstition or an idiosyncrasy that came from everything he’d experience in the Great War.

It was one such occasion when a group of aurors headed up by Theseus were cornered by the followers of the dark wizard. The ribbon around Theseus’ fist trailed through the air in the wake of the spells he cast. They still weren’t good enough. He watched one of his subordinates hit the ground, eyes blank. Another took a curse to the chest and fell to the ground with a scream.

“Get out of here!” Theseus bellowed at them and took up position in front of them. If they could escape without further loss, then it would all be worth it. He could suffer anything as long as those in his care were looked after. The series of pops behind him reassured him that they were gone and he was alone against half a dozen cowled fanatics. Theseus was good, but even he was no match for them when so vastly outnumbered and all too quickly he was writhing on the ground as curses thudded into him. He was grateful when he finally passed out.

  


* * *

 

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice sneered into his ear as he blinked himself back to consciousness. Grindelwald loomed over him with a dangerous curl to his lips. “Took you long enough. I thought a great war hero would do better than that. Pitiful. Still, perhaps this will be easier for me than expected.”

“I’ll give you nothing.” Theseus snarled back despite the echoing aches of curses that ricocheted around his body.

“No, someone like you has nothing to give. Your brother on the other hand …” Grindelwald left the sentence hanging dangerously. Despite himself Theseus’ hand went to his pocket where the ribbon felt like a heavy comfort between his fingers. He would do anything for Newt because Newt had done everything for him. Grindelwald’s eyes tracked the movement of his hand, but he didn’t say anything.

Theseus was left alone for what he assumed to be the rest of the day. He tried to keep track of time, but it slipped through his fingers. A shallow bowl of water and bread appeared in the corner of his cell. He ate it quickly after he had checked it was free of sedatives and poisons, then he settled down for the night though he didn’t want to sleep. But by the time his breakfast had appeared his eyelids were drooping. Despite his best efforts he fell asleep.

When he awoke, Grindelwald was sat on the floor just outside of the cell and stared at him without blinking. Theseus’ hand went to his pocket which was empty. He tried to quell his panic but Grindelwald saw through it.

“Looking for this?” he asked with a small grin, the ribbon dangled between his fingers, “Curious thing, nothing magical about it yet you still carry it like a talisman. Now what ever are we going to do with it?”

Theseus’ eyes widened in shock for no more than a second, before he schooled his features. He stared blankly at Grindelwald, a face of indifference. “I won’t tell you anything, you don’t need to try anything funny.”

But before he even said the words, he knew that Grindelwald had seen his momentary slip-up. Theseus knew better than to reveal his emotions to a madman—he had failed once again. The amount of self-hate that pulsed through his veins in that moment could be compared to the ocean that separated England and the Colonies. It was probably bigger, more encompassing. It seared through his body like a burning fire, killing everything in its wake, only leaving dying ashes. And didn’t he deserve it? Didn’t he deserve to sit here, right in front of Grindelwald, a prisoner to the darkest wizard alive? The answer was: He did. He had failed everyone. He had failed his Ministry, his whole department—his aurors.

The empty eyes of his dead comrade flashed into his mind, unseeing and cold. He had just been a boy, a young junior auror, barely out of training. He had been Theseus’ responsibility—and he had _failed him_. Like he had failed everyone else. It was his fault that this boy was dead, that his family would never see him again.

Yes, he deserved to be rotting away in this cell with no one to save him.

“As fun as it is to watch the cogs turn in your head, _War Hero_ ”—the title was said with as much mockery as Grindelwald could manage, Theseus was sure of it—“I don’t have all day. I’m not really interested in the informations you hold, I have my spies in the Ministry. No, you are of no interest to me. But why not have a little fun before killing you? Maybe you’ll be as much of a pleasant guest as Percy had been—does that name ring a bell?”

Theseus sneered. Of course that name rang a bell. He had known Percival since the war, had mended his wounds, physical and mental, after Grindelwald had kept him prisoner in his own home for _months_. He had been there, day and night, had witnessed the aftermath of what Grindelwald had done to his friend. And he _loathed_ the dark wizard for it. Maybe his hate for Grindelwald was even bigger than the hate he held for himself.

“Finally I got a reaction from you. Your brother and Percy seem to be your weak spot. Not that this is of any surprise, a man like you values friendship and family, of course you do. A man of honour. But are you really? You seem quite … pathetic.”

“Go fuck yourself, Grindelwald!” Theseus spat, losing his patience. He knew he shouldn’t have let Grindelwald get to him, but the mention of Percival and Newt … It unsettled him deeply. He didn’t want to involve them in this. This was his fight and his alone.

Grindelwald smiled. It made Theseus’ skin crawl and he suddenly had the urge to vomit. “Now, now, that’s not how a guest should behave.” And his fingers, his long, slender fingers, trailed along the ribbon, feeling its silky fabric. Theseus wanted to cry. It was _his_ ribbon, gifted to him by _Newt_ , his baby brother, the man who actually looked past his imperfections and _loved_ him.

“Give it back!” He croaked, feeling tears sting at his eyes while he desperately tried to keep his voice under control. But it broke on the third word, making Grindelwald smile even wider.

“Isn’t that interesting?” He whispered and came closer, now only inches from Theseus. He tried to bring more space between them, but the wall at his back kept him in place, making it impossible for him to get away. “How about you tell me why this … _thing_ is so important to you?”

Theseus bit his lower lip and turned his head away. He would never tell him. Never. Not even if the man tortured him. It was his and Newt’s secret and he would take it to the grave.

He heard Grindelwald tsk and heave a sigh, before he could feel magic weaving around him, cradling his face. _No! Nonono!_ He thought frantically as the magic pried his head around. He tried to fight it, but to no avail. Grindelwald made his head turn back, made him face him, chin tilted up. Mismatched eyes bore into his and he knew what would come. In an instant he strengthened his mental shields.

Pain exploded in his head at the first attack, but his walls held. Of course they did. His occlumency was excellent. But he knew that Grindelwald wasn’t done just yet. The next attack was expected. Theseus didn’t know how many times Grindelwald tried to get into his mind, how often he fought him back. But in the end he was left alone in his cell, drained and tired, a heap of exhaustion on the cold, hard ground. This time he didn’t try to stay awake.

Grindelwald’s visits continued in no strict pattern. It disoriented Theseus and he lost track of time—probably exactly what the madman wanted to achieve. Whenever Grindelwald graced him with his presence, he brought food and Theseus would ignore it, only to gobble it up like a starving man when Grindelwald had left again.

These visits always consisted of Grindelwald asking him about the ribbon. Theseus refused to answer every time. After that the attacks on his mind would start until he was too exhausted to move. But his shields held. They always did. Maybe Grindelwald would get tired of trying one day and would just kill Theseus. That was the hope that kept him from revealing anything—the hope of death.

He didn’t know how much time passed. He had stopped counting after Grindelwald’s twentieth visit, too tired of everything to keep count of something so irrelevant. He only concentrated on his mental walls that were slowly, very slowly, getting weaker and weaker—Grindelwald probably knew—and on the faint hope that someone was out there, trying to find him, trying to save him.

With every passing visit his hope dwindled that little bit more. Surely someone would have found him by now. Surely his aurors would have found him by now. Surely _Newt_ would have found him by now.

But no one came. Apparently he wasn’t important enough to anyone.

Despite the lack of pattern things still fell into something predictable. Theseus would be alone, then at some point Grindelwald would turn up. He’d bring food and mock Theseus while dangling his precious ribbon in front of his face. After some time Grindelwald would get bored and leave. Then Theseus would wolf down the food left behind.

It wasn’t a great situation and with each passing moment he felt himself sink lower into the cold embrace of despair. Nobody was coming for him. He wasn’t important enough. But each time he saw the ribbon he remembered Newt’s promise, unspoken as it was. Newt had him, Newt loved him, Newt wanted him, Newt needed him. It became a mantra in his head, one which no amount of teasing and snarling from Grindelwald could dislodge. The madman returned once again, but this time he had a grin on his face.

“You know, I did some thinking,” Grindelwald began and Theseus turned his face away. He didn’t want to see the other man, didn’t want to see his ribbon slip between fingers that had rejoiced in killing. “I realised something. This ribbon. It’s the perfect size to go round someone’s neck. Your neck.”

Theseus’ head whipped around against his better judgement and he took in the sight of Grindelwald, ribbon wrapped delicately around his hand, bow in place.

“Who would have wanted to claim _you_ , though?” The words cut deep but Theseus didn’t reply. “You can’t have meant very much to them. This ribbon is pitiful. It’s the cheapest one that the nearest corner store to your home sold. I should know, I checked. It was even in the sale section. Is that really how desperate you are for affection? You’ll take the smallest scraps from wherever you can. Pitiful.”

“Shut up!” Theseus bit out bitterly.

“And in denial about it too! How delightful.” Grindelwald crooned. “But as you can see, nobody is coming for you. I don’t think anyone has even noticed you’re gone. I had to replace Percival to make sure people didn’t come looking. I didn’t even have to do that for you.”

“Stop. Please. Just stop.” Theseus’ breathing was ragged. He didn’t want to hear the truth from Grindelwald. He already knew he wasn’t important, that he wasn’t wanted. He didn’t need a mad dark wizard to spell it out for him.

“I think it’s time you stopped deluding yourself. Let me help.” Grindelwald unravelled the ribbon from his hand and dangled it above the tip of his wand. “Incendio.”

“NO!” Theseus launched himself at the bars of the cell, hand grasping out for the ribbon which curled at the edges under the heat before holes appeared throughout it. Small chunks twisted and drifted to the ground out of his reach.

“It holds no thrall over you. I’ve freed you.” Grindelwald’s smirk was victorious. “Nobody will want you now. You’re so easy to put aside and forget about.”

Theseus sagged against the bars and watched the last of Newt’s ribbon melt into ash. Nobody was coming for him. Nobody cared enough.

“Please leave.” Theseus finally croaked miserably. Grindelwald bowed a little at the hips.

“But before I leave. Please, just consider one thing.” With that he pulled a sturdy leather collar from his pocket. “While nobody may want you, you may prove to be useful to me.”

Theseus looked at the collar with disgust written all over his face, contorting his features into something ugly. Grindelwald tutted and shook his head. “I will just leave it here. Think about it,” he said and levitated the collar into the cell, right next to Theseus, who didn’t dare look at it.

“You will never have me,” Theseus spat, not sparing one glance at the collar.

Grindelwald’s smile, as he left the room, was disconcerting.

Theseus was left alone with his thoughts once more—with his very intrusive thoughts. Newt, of course, played a heavy part in them, Theseus wondering if his brother would come to save him. He had given up hope already, it had been too long since Grindelwald had captured him. But his traitorous heart didn’t want to let go. Not after all Newt had done for him. Not after all the time they had spent together, wrapped up in each other on the couch, or Newt sitting in his armchair, notes sprawled out on the table in front of him, while Theseus sat between his legs, head resting on his brother’s thigh. Newt would always rake his long, slender fingers through Theseus’ hair, soothing his mind, making his eyes droop. It was those times that Theseus could truly let go and just relax, even though his limbs would hurt from the long time on the hard floor. After Newt had caught on that it hurt him at his age to sit on the floor, he would cast cushioning charms, no questions asked. And Theseus had sighed in relief, curling up in contentment, the heavy collar comforting around his neck.

Sometimes he would nuzzle against Newt’s crotch in gratitude for everything, making his brother moan, until he would beg Theseus to take out his cock and suck him off. And Theseus loved to do that, to be of use to Newt. To be wanted. It felt so good. It felt even better to hear his brother make those needy noises just for him—just _because_ of him.

It were those thoughts, those memories that kept him sane. But the question of _why_ Newt didn’t come to save him still lingered, making Theseus anxious. Maybe Newt really had gotten tired of him. Maybe Newt didn’t want him anymore. Maybe maybe maybe.

He fell asleep to thoughts of Newt wanting to get rid of him, of Newt telling him that he was just a burden, that he didn’t deserve to be loved, that he was broken beyond repair. That he wasn’t worth anything anymore after he had been imprisoned by Grindelwald—because he had failed everyone.

  


* * *

 

Theseus woke up in a cold sweat, his hands reached into his pockets, searching frantically for the ribbon that wasn’t there. No. Nonono. He _needed_ it! Now!

“Where is it?” He whispered, voice hoarse, throat raw like he had screamed for hours. Maybe he had. In his dreams. “ _Where is it_?!”

It took him several minutes until his brain caught up and reminded him that Grindelwald of all people had taken his ribbon and burnt it. His safe haven. His sanity. He let out a whimper—whether out of frustration or grief, he couldn’t tell. He just knew that he needed Newt, needed his brother to hold him, to tell him that everything would be fine. And the closest thing he got to having Newt was the ribbon. But Grindelwald had destroyed it. The realisation came crashing down on him, made it hard to breathe, made it hard to _be_. He would never get the ribbon back.

Grindelwald didn’t come back. Not for days on end. Food still appeared in his cell, but there was nobody, besides his thoughts, to keep him company. And they weren’t good company. They plagued him, screamed about how unlovable and worthless he was. Not even his own brother wanted him unless he had something to give. And he’d given Newt his everything, the last shreds of his heart, his hopes and his body. He had nothing left to give. It wasn’t like anybody wanted him anyway. Each time he fell asleep he hoped that he wouldn’t have to wake up again. Each time he woke up, he was filled with despair at having to drag himself through another hollow day. Very quickly Theseus lost track of the cycle of waking and sleeping, how long he’d been left alone. It didn’t matter any more. He didn’t matter any more. All he had were the bars of the cell and the leather collar.

The first time he woke up curled around the collar he didn’t even have it in himself to be disgusted. Tiredly he pushed himself away from the offending item, but he was too emotionally exhausted to even have a shiver of repulsion run down his spine.

What Theseus didn’t know was each time he slept Grindelwald would quietly sneak in and watch him as he twitched and whimpered in his dream. He was there when Theseus finally caved in, half awake in misery he’d reached out for the collar and brought it close to his chest. The last anchor in his meaningless life. That night Grindelwald left with a smug grin. It was only a matter of a few more days before Theseus broke.

From then on Grindelwald didn’t stay for long to watch Theseus sleep, he’d just pop in for a minute, reassure himself that the other man clutched at the collar, then leave. Once the pattern was established and Theseus no longer fought the urge to hold onto something, Grindelwald stole the collar from Theseus’ fingers as he slept. In the morning when Theseus woke, his fingers grasped at thin air and panic set in. The collar. It was gone. It wasn’t in his hands. He hadn’t rolled onto it. His fingers reached for his neck but it wasn’t there either. He sank to his knees with a whimper.

The door slammed open, but Theseus didn’t have the energy to rise, to fight. He was defeated. Grindelwald stood tall and proud on the other side of his cell.

“Sleep well?” he taunted knowingly. Theseus just looked at the ground by his feet and sagged. He deserved whatever this madman saw fit to do with him. “Perhaps you’re missing something?”

The jangle of metal and leather drew Theseus’ gaze. The collar, his collar, dangled between Grindelwald’s fingers. He couldn’t hold back the small whine at the sight of it.

“Would you like it? Would you like my collar?”

Soundlessly Theseus nodded.

“I need you to use your words for me.” Grindelwald’s tone was almost gentle. Theseus tried to speak but all that came out was a pitiful croak. He cleared his throat.

“Yes. Yes please.” His voice was soft, utterly devoid of the self-assured auror persona he’d worked so hard to cultivate. The collar sailed between the bars and landed on the ground. He couldn’t help himself, he scrabbled for it and clutched it close to his chest.

“Don’t tell me I never did anything for you,” Grindelwald snarled and left the pitiful man kneeling in his cell. Theseus paid him no attention, his fingers ran over the leather and the buckle. With trembling hands he raised the collar to his neck. It was a perfect fit.

  


* * *

 

The next time Grindelwald visited, Theseus sat in the corner, legs drawn to his chest, and the collar snug around his neck. He didn’t have the energy to be disgusted with himself—he was just glad that the grounding feeling was back, making him feel safe, making him feel wanted and loved and not like a burden someone wanted to get rid of. And the collar felt heavy and smooth against his skin, radiating a certain warmth that made him touch it with trembling fingers again and again.

“Now, don’t you look pretty?” Grindelwald’s voice was soft and Theseus looked up at him with guarded eyes, albeit tired from his time being held captive. He could practically feel the bags under his eyes, his sunken, pale skin, his ribs already showing. He was exhausted and weak and deep down he knew that Grindelwald used this to his advantage. “Come here.”

Grindelwald’s command was sharp but gentle at the same time, his silky voice caressing Theseus’ abused mind. And he couldn’t find it in himself to resist, obeying reluctantly, giving in in no time. His legs trembled beneath him when he stood up, supporting his weight on the wall. They were weak from all the time he had sat on the cold, hard floor, his old bones protesting, his muscles strained from the sudden motion he wasn’t used to anymore. But in the end he stood, panting and shivering, sweat on his forehead and hands on the rough, uneven wall.

It took him a few steps and even more minutes to finally get to the bars, right in front of Grindelwald, who was smiling patiently at him, a few inches shorter, but looking so much taller. He had a way of making his presence known without saying or doing anything, just filling the room with authority. And that’s what Theseus craved—someone to lead him, to guide him. Someone to hold him, whom he could put his own weight on, who would catch him and keep him.

When Grindelwald’s hand snuck through the bars to caress his clammy cheek, he didn’t flinch, didn’t take a step back, but closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He knew he was disgusting, selling himself to the dark wizard like this, but it felt good and safe and right. For once after such a long time he felt content, letting out a small whimper.

“Now, that’s my good boy,” Grindelwald cooed, his thumb brushing softly over the skin right under Theseus’ eye. It felt so much like Newt’s touch, but Grindelwald’s hands were broader, smoother, not littered with small scars and callouses from years of work with magical creatures. But Theseus could get used to this changed touch, could get lost in it as much as he had gotten lost in Newt’s. He just needed time to adjust.

A sigh left his lips as he nuzzled against Grindelwald’s palm, putting pressure on it, demanding more. “Please.” The whispered word slipped past his lips without him wanting to and he held his breath in anticipation. He hoped he hadn’t fucked things up already.

But Grindelwald only chuckled quietly, his thumb brushing again over his cold, sweaty skin before drawing away. “Soon, my darling boy. Soon. For now be good for me and wait here. I’ll be back in a few hours and then … well, then we will start your training. I want you to behave, to be well mannered. And if you get my approval, maybe we will get you some nice tags for that collar, to show everyone who you belong to—and maybe a nice leash as well? Doesn’t that sound delightful?”

It did, indeed. Theseus was so caught up in the imagine of what could be that he let out an involuntary whine. He wanted it so badly, wanted to belong, wanted to be wanted. It was pathetic. But he couldn’t care less right now.

  


* * *

 

True to his word Grindelwald was back a few hours later. The relief that flooded through Theseus at not being lied to, let down and forgotten about was palpable. His eyes tracked Grindelwald as he moved into the room, a strap of leather dangled between his fingers. It could have been a leash or a belt to whip him with and Theseus knew which he deserved more.

“Come here.” Grindelwald pointed to the door of the cell. Obediently Theseus approached on coltish legs. “You’re going to be good for me aren’t you?”

A finger under Theseus’ chin tipped his face up so he had to look up at his captor.

“Yes, I’ll be good for you,” he muttered. A finger stroked down his cheek and he hoped it would never stop. The warmth was pulled away and he tried to follow it, but the bars of his cell were in the way. A soft click and the door swung open. Theseus stood there, uncertain of what to do. He’d become so accustomed to his small cell that leaving it became a terrifying prospect. Another click and the leash was attached to his collar.

“Come with me.” He followed mutely. They walked through darkened corridors, each a little brighter than the previous one. By the time Theseus was led into a room he was almost used to the bright lights. Along the walls of the room were beasts chained to metal hoops that protruded in unsightly bulges. Each creature hunkered down in dumb submission. A nundu, next to a graphorn, opposite was an erumpent alongside a thunderbird. All chained and displayed like prized possessions. Theseus was led to a large desk.

“Kneel for me.” Grindelwald ushered him down. The end of his leash was tied to the desk and he was pushed under it. Grindelwald sat, legs splayed wide on the chair and Theseus could lean against his leg. It was warm and the firm thigh was a grounding comfort under his cheek. He almost missed the sound of a zipper being undone.

“Open your mouth.” Theseus did as told, eyes closed. “Suck, but don’t make me come. If you’re good I’ll reward you. And if I feel so much as a hint of teeth you’ll be thrown out with the rest of the rubbish, where you really belong. I took pity on you; you’d do well to remember that and be grateful for it.”

There was no thought once Theseus closed his mouth. Only a sense of belonging and he was indeed grateful for it.

He moved his mouth like he was in a daze, the heady feeling of cock on his tongue so familiar. Even though he didn’t want to compare Grindelwald to Newt, he couldn’t stop his mind from doing so. Grindelwald’s girth was wider, stretching his mouth so deliciously. But Newt’s cock had this delightful curve right under the tip, making taking it deep so much more pleasurable for Theseus. Still, sucking off Grindelwald was an experience he didn’t want to miss, the collar around his neck telling him that he belonged to the man now, that he was at his mercy, doing anything he wanted. And he liked it.

Theseus could feel himself growing hard in his restricting pants, his cock pressing painfully against the unyielding fabric. It was a sweet ache, a pain he deserved. His hands twitched, wanting to touch himself, his fingers slowly creeping to his clothed crotch. And once the featherlight touch reached its target, barely palpable, his hips jerked forward, making his hand palm his hard cock, and he moaned around the hot length in his mouth.

With his hand firmly pressed against himself, he took Grindelwald deeper, making him hit the back of his throat, making him gag, tears stinging in his eyes. But he deserved it, deserved all of this, so he kept going, his head bobbing back and forth, his free hand aiding in pleasuring the man whose feet he was kneeling at. It was thrilling to feel him twitch inside his mouth, his tongue pressing flat against the underside of Grindelwald’s cock, trailing along the pulsating vein. And when he sucked once, he could feel Grindelwald’s hips quickly bucking against his mouth, making the corners turn up. Apparently he was good for his new master, could pleasure him just right.

He began to rub his crotch through his trousers, kept moaning and sucking, spit dribbled down his chin, lips stretched wide and swollen, obscenely red. Deep down he was hoping that he looked as debauched as he felt and that Grindelwald would like it—he wanted to please him so badly, didn’t want to be thrown away like the trash he was. He had to keep giving, had to show his worth. Well, he knew he wasn’t worth anything anymore, a broken soldier—a broken man. Nothing more than a ghost of his past self. A pathetic shadow. But maybe he could show Grindelwald that he could still be of use.

A hand in his hair stopped him dead in his movements, his eyes went wide, looking up at his new master. And Grindelwald smirked down at him, his grip tightened, almost painful, but Theseus didn’t complain. “That’s enough. You’ve done well, my boy,” he said, voice rough, and Theseus keened, letting the cock pop out of his mouth, pressing his head into the hand. A thread of saliva was hanging between his lips and the wet, glistening cock, resting against Grindelwald’s thigh. Theseus didn’t mind, still feeling the heavy cock on his tongue, craving to have it back, yearning for it to fill him.

“Was I good for you?” Theseus asked, voice hoarse and quiet, seeking approval. He wanted so badly for Grindelwald to keep him. He didn’t want to be alone again—he _couldn’t_ be alone again. “Please …”

“Well, I did tell you not to make me come. Yet you seemed determined to do just that.” Theseus whimpered at the admonishment. “But I suppose you’re new at this, you’ll do for now. Until something better comes along. So, tell me, what would you like for your reward for doing a mediocre job?” Grindelwald expected Theseus to beg to be allowed to come. Or to perhaps be given a cushion to kneel on.

“You. I just want you. Please.” That made Grindelwald freeze in surprise for a moment before he looked down at Theseus, staring up at him with baleful eyes.

“Fine.” He heaved a put upon sigh and rolled his eyes. “Only because you asked so nicely. Manners will get you things you haven’t truly earnt sometimes.”

Theseus didn’t wait for Grindelwald to finish speaking. He’d done okay. Grindelwald wasn’t going to chuck him out yet. He was allowed a reward and he was allowed to please his master. He took Grindelwald back in his mouth and curled his tongue under the vein. It didn’t take a lot of effort before Grindelwald was thrusting into his mouth and cursing. Fingers tugged hard at his hair and the cock in his mouth forced its way into his throat. Theseus tried not to gag or wipe the tears away. He deserved this, he’d earnt it. Newt would never have been so rough with him, he would have cradled the back of his head and fed him his cock with soft praise. It would have let Theseus close his eyes and focus purely on the pleasure he was giving. Grindelwald allowed him none of that—but Theseus didn’t deserve it anyway. His own hand pushed against his erection to relieve some pressure at least. He was so close, but he’d not been given permission. Newt always told him to come whenever he wanted to, to not wait for him. But Grindelwald hadn’t told him. A final brutal thrust later his throat and mouth filled with the cloying taste of come and Theseus pulled off, choking.

“There’s a pet. Be quiet now, I have work to do.” Grindelwald spelled himself clean, tucked himself away and resumed his work. He left Theseus filthy, his chin and mouth glistened with drying spit and come. Under the desk Theseus tried to catch his breath quietly. His cock was still half hard and he had half a mind to coax himself back into full hardness just to pass the time.

“You asked for me when you could have had anything. Don’t you even dare think of getting yourself off. That’s not yours now,” Grindelwald said as though he’d been reading his mind. He probably had, Theseus realised his mental barriers had crumbled and he hadn’t even noticed when. With nothing else to do, Theseus lay his cheek against Grindelwald’s thigh and drifted.

Some time later he was carelessly pushed off as Grindelwald stood and stretched. The man went out without a word and Theseus stayed where he’d been left. He’d not been told to do anything else so he had no reason to move. Under the desk, forgotten about but not thrown out. He could live with that.

Theseus curled up, legs drawn up to his chest, lying on his side. He was mindful not to strangle himself with the collar and the leash, having it loosely lying next to him, while it still tied him to the leg of the desk.

From his position he had a clear view over the room, could see everything, every poor beast chained to the walls. It made his heart ache. Newt wouldn’t approve of this—Newt would free them, even if it meant he would die trying. Anything so his creatures could be happy. And these creatures right here under Grindelwald’s care looked anything but happy. They looked miserable, malnourished, weak. Theseus was certain that he could see the flesh rubbed raw, flashing from under the collar of the nundu; it would get infected soon if the poor thing didn’t get healed. Newt would have a salve or potion to help it. Theseus had nothing. And Grindelwald would _do_ nothing.

The horn of the erumpent had lost its light, only glowing weakly in the now dimly lit room—Grindelwald had dimmed the lights when he had left. Theseus knew it indicated that it was losing its magic. And if erumpents lost their magic, they … died. The words of his brother were running through his head, feeding him information on the beasts in the room. He knew instinctively that most of them would die if they didn’t get any help soon.

_I can’t let them die. Newt wouldn’t want that_ , Theseus thought, bringing up his arm to wipe his mouth with his sleeve. Semen and saliva clung to it but he didn’t care, only wanted to get rid of the sticky sensation on his skin.

Again and again he thought about how Newt would save these creatures, how he would help them and give them a new home, not let them die there. Newt would rather die himself than let a beast suffer like this. And Newt meant everything to Theseus, even if Theseus apparently didn’t mean anything to Newt. But he owed him so much, owed him his life and his sanity.

With a start he realised that he needed to do something. Now. He would free these creatures and get them to Newt. And then he would come back and await his punishment for not obeying Grindelwald. But he had the hope to soothe the anger of the man—he could be good, could be a good boy.

He was so desperate and confused and he wanted to do the right thing. But he didn’t want to be cast aside again. No. Not again. “Please, never again,” he whispered and was shocked to feel tears running down his cheeks, dripping to the floor, making it uncomfortable for him to lie there anymore. With a huff he sat up again and wiped his face on his sleeves, getting rid of any evidence that he had cried like a little boy. Grindelwald couldn’t see him like this. The man already saw him as a pathetic mess, Theseus didn’t need to fuel that image any more.

The nundu made a faint whimpering sound and Theseus immediately snapped back into the here and now. Right. He had a mission. He needed to free those animals as fast as possible, get them to Newt and return here to receive his punishment. Maybe Grindelwald would finally have mercy and kill him.

With trembling fingers, already having made a decision, he loosened his leash, hoping it wasn’t enchanted to tell Grindelwald that his newest pet was leaving his place.

His leash slipped free of its hook and he let it lay over his shoulder and slap against his back. There was work to be done and he didn’t have time to fidget with the clasp. After a measured look, where he weighed up the creatures, Theseus moved.

None of the creatures seemed particularly keen on having him nearby, but none of them lashed out. It was a matter of simply unhooking the chains and leashes from the wall and the beasts followed him. The collars must have been charmed to promote subdued submissiveness, Theseus mused and his mind turned to his own collar. Did Grindelwald think so lowly of him that he didn’t think Theseus needed mellowing? Was he so broken that he posed no threat to the man? Something akin to the old fires of life sparked in Theseus, before hopeless misery quenched them again. He just needed to get these creatures to Newt. They deserved better. He did not.

Leashes in hand Theseus looked around. There was only one door through which Grindelwald had left. He didn’t know where it lead, what was on the other side of the door—he may have come through the door but he’d been too lost in his head to take much note of his environment. It seemed hopeless, he didn’t know where he was, where he was going and who he might have to fight. He couldn’t possibly hope to protect all the creatures if it came down to combat. And then Newt would be so disappointed. In his pit of self-despair and self-loathing Theseus almost forgot that he was a wizard. He could apparate. After a little gentle probing he realised there were no anti-apparating charms on the room. So he thought of Newt. Thought of the ribbon that had melted away into nothing. He felt the pull of the home he’d always wanted. He let himself be pulled and held tightly onto the leashes.

The pile of creatures on top of him and around him he’d landed in made for a painful landing. The cacophony that accompanied their arrival was impossible to not hear. The doors to the house slammed open and Newt came running out, case in hand. Percival stood behind him, wand raised and more cautious to throw himself into the fray.

“Seus!” Newt’s cry was full of relief. He ignored all the creatures around them and made a beeline for his older brother, who felt he didn’t deserve the attention Newt was bestowing upon him. The soft kiss to the corner of his still sticky mouth. There was no way Newt wouldn’t be able to taste it. Know the shame Theseus had sunk to in his desperation for even a scrap of not even love.

“I was so worried about you,” Newt whispered and Theseus stood hunched over and mute with fear. He didn’t want to see Newt’s face fall when he realised Theseus wore another’s collar now. Against his better judgement Theseus’ eyes flickered up to Percival. It seemed that Newt had already replaced him with someone who was his equal rather than the pathetic pity fuck Theseus could offer. In that glance, though, he saw Newt’s eyes fall to his throat. As he took in the collar, his face flickered from surprised to disappointed. Theseus should have known, should have been prepared for it. He knew all he was, was bitter disappointment, but to see it on Newt’s face hurt something fierce.

“Oh Seus. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you so unhappy,” Newt murmured, a hand abortedly reached for him and then dropped.

“I thought you’d want the creatures to be safe,” Theseus finally said, voice hoarse from his throat being abused not so long ago. He didn’t have the energy to deny Newt’s sad concern. While Newt had never made him unhappy, there wasn’t the fight left in him to reassure Newt that the fault wasn’t in him at all, rather it was all Theseus’ problem. He couldn’t hold onto someone as incredible as Newt.

“You’re more important. You’re worth more than any of these creatures. Where would I be without you, brother? You’re the sun to my moon. Without you I’m half the man.”

It was too much. Theseus couldn’t bear to be lied to like that. He backed away, mouth half forming words he didn’t have the voice for. He wanted to get back to Grindelwald. To apologise and take his punishment like he knew he deserved. Theseus didn’t deserve Newt’s kindness, his gentle touches. With a panic Theseus realised he didn’t know how to get back.

In his frantic escape from Newt he’d backed into something warm and solid. Arms folded around his chest. He never realised Percival had snuck up behind him.

His body went rigid in Percival’s gentle embrace, shivers running through him. But Percival didn’t let go, held him, ever so tender, not relenting. And after a few minutes—hours?—Theseus went lax, his whole body sagged against his friend, sobs ripping their way out of his throat.

Percival began to murmur sweet nothings into his ear, while Newt led them both inside and into the living room, up to the couch; the menagerie of magical creatures followed them, huddled in a corner. He could see Newt watching them worriedly, but soon his eyes were on Theseus again, equally as worried.

“Sit,” he instructed and without his input Percival placed him on the couch, sitting down right next to him. Theseus didn’t have the strength to stand on his own two legs anyway. With a frown Newt kneeled in front of him, his hands coming up to grab his face tenderly, brushing over the pale, waxen skin, eyes roaming over him. “What happened?” He whispered, obviously more to himself than to Theseus. And Theseus wasn’t able to answer anyway, his throat clogged, everything numb. He could only sit and stare.

“Newt … Newton, let go of him,” Percival instructed after Theseus couldn’t find it in himself to say anything. And when the warm, loving hands left him, he wanted to cry, wanted to chase them. But he knew he didn’t deserve Newt’s love. He had failed them all, given up on them like they had given up on him. And he had betrayed them, crawling at Grindelwald’s feet like a mere animal.

His thoughts stopped all of a sudden when Percival took his hands in his own, just holding them, giving warmth and reassurance. And Theseus wanted to cry and scream and run, because why was Percival so nice to him after all he had done, after he had failed them, after he had betrayed them? He should arrest him for treason, not comfort him!

“Thes, please stop thinking for a moment.” Percival’s baritone voice was soothing and Theseus could feel his breathing calming down immediately, could feel his muscles relax with every breath he took. “Good. You are doing so well. And now you listen to me. Whatever Grindelwald did, it wasn’t your fault—you are not to bla—”

“It _was_ my fault.” Theseus surprised himself by interrupting Percival, all hoarse and sounding like he was about to cry. Well, he was, but nobody needed to know that. “I—I let hi—him have me. I failed you all. I gave in.” His sentences were short and fast spoken, trying not to stutter. Trying not to give in to the urge to cry.

But Percival would have none of it, gently squeezing his hands, shushing him without words. “Grindelwald is a manipulative bastard. Theseus, he did it with me too! You have to understand—he gathers every bit of information he can get about you and uses it against you.” Theseus could feel the tremble running through Percival’s body when he took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “He figured out that you crave affection and validation and he used it against you.” Theseus tensed up at these words. How did Percival know? Did Newt tell him? Was he so easy to read?

Biting his lower lip hard, he pulled his hands out of Percival’s grasp, curling them against his chest, shaking his head rapidly. No. Grindelwald didn’t do that. He couldn’t. He _wanted_ Theseus, wanted to keep him, to have him. Not like Newt who didn’t save him, who had someone new—who had his once best friend now at his side.

“Grindelwald wanted me when you didn’t!” He rasped out and now there were tears on his face, hot and scorching and showing all the weakness he never wanted them to see. “He took me in! He didn’t abandon me like you did!”

Theseus was sobbing openly now, not bothering to hide his tears, shame tinting his face red, making his skin hot to the touch.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Newt’s voice was calm and collected, but there was an angry note lying beneath it all, his eyes flashing dangerously. He had never seen his brother so livid. “We didn’t abandon you. We searched for you for weeks! We couldn’t find you—the aurors couldn’t find you! But I refused to give up and so I asked Percival here for help. We never believed you were dead like the Ministry did!”

And now there were tears on his brother’s face too, leaving ugly blotches, flushing his skin an angry red, making it clash violently with his auburn hair—it made him even more beautiful. Theseus could only sit and stare, the shock of his brother yelling at him stopping his tears.

“He is right, you know?” Percival’s calm voice was an anchor in this stormy sea of emotions. He was grounding them both, but even he had tears in his eyes. And Theseus realised—it was all because of him. They cared.

“Now, what a heartfelt reunion. It would be a shame if someone interrupted it, don’t you think?” Grindelwald walked through the door into the living room like he owned the place and tsked—it seemed like he liked to do that. “My new pet misbehaved. My boy, I will need to punish you.” Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes were fixed on Theseus and Theseus’ heart stopped. He had disobeyed his master.

Theseus rose from the couch and took a few trembling steps towards Grindelwald. He’d been bad. He needed to be punished but he didn’t relish the idea.

“Theseus, I try not to tell you what to do, but don’t you dare take another step.” Newt’s voice was harsh, terrifying in a way he’d not heard before. He’d been so bad. He’d let down Newt, hurt him and Percival, while also doing what he knew his new master wouldn’t want him to. No matter where he turned he’d be punished, hurt in the worst of ways.

“Don’t listen to him. See how he wants you to do things for him. It’s always been about him and never about you. At least you know I don’t pretend to care about you.” Grindelwald’s words held a certain amount of painful truth. He was right, he’d never offered the false illusion of care. But Newt had cried for him. Got angry with him. Newt had cared, hadn’t he? It was too much conflict in his head. Theseus felt his knees buckle slowly, but the leash draped over his back rose and pulled him towards Grindelwald.

“Come kneel by my feet. Show me that there is some use to you,” Grindelwald sneered. Theseus took another shaky step. Something moved behind him. The leash was yanked harshly back and there was the sound of leather tearing under the cutting curse. What remained of the leash floated a little ahead of him on the remnants of a spell before it fell lifeless to the ground. Behind him Percival snarled under his breath as he worked on pulling the collar off. It made Theseus panic. If the collar was gone he’d be set floating aimlessly into the world. He’d have no anchor to hold him down, to call him home. His fingers scrabbled to hold the collar in place as the buckle loosened, but it was too late. It fell away in his hands and he blinked.

“I’ve seen him use these collars before. Binds the will of the wearer to some extent. Enhances their insecurities and feeds their need to obey. Disgusting.” Percival backed away from Theseus. “With us you’d only have to obey what you wanted. You know that Theseus. Don’t throw yourself at the feet of a madman who would strip you of your humanity. You’re worth far more than that.”

Confusion made Theseus’ head swim. He’d have given himself to Grindelwald freely, he didn’t need to be spelled to stay obedient. He just wanted to be good, to be wanted and maybe if he was enough, then over time something akin to loved. Thinking hurt. Everything hurt and his vision blurred with tears. He didn’t hear the spells cast around him, the vicious curses and screams of creatures when Newt decided he’d had enough. The protective shield charm around him didn’t mean anything. It was so much easier to just close his eyes and let himself drift. It didn’t matter anymore what happened. Nobody really wanted him and he didn’t really want to be anything anymore.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when the world around him finally went silent, he found himself kneeling on the ground, hunched over, eyes still firmly shut, hands pressed over his ears. His whole body was trembling and his lips formed the word “stop” again and again without uttering a sound.

A hand on his shoulder made him jerk back, eyes now open and wide, staring up at the person right next to him. “What a pathetic performance that was, don’t you think?” Grindelwald asked, smile wide and manic.

Theseus took in his surroundings. Newt and Percival were lying on the floor, motionless. And his heart stopped. “No …” He whispered brokenly, tears threatening to spill once again. It couldn’t be. Not them. Never them. How could they lose? How? Ice-cold dread was settling in his veins, in his bones, filling every space in his body. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He felt so numb. “Not them. Please, not them.”

“Oh, but they deserve it,” Grindelwald said, crouching down next to him. His hand grabbed Theseus by the chin and forced him to look at him. Grindelwald’s face was pale as always, that smile reaching his eyes in the most disconcerting way possible, giving his features a psychopathic touch. Mismatched eyes fixed on him and somehow that made Theseus snap out of it. They were cold and unrelenting, not holding the warmth he had always seen in Newt’s eyes whenever they had been together. Newt’s eyes that would never hold his laughter again. Newt’s eyes that were dead.

Grindelwald’s fingers brushed over his clammy skin and Theseus shuddered in disgust. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t _who_ he wanted. He wanted Newt. He wanted Newt to hold him, to pet his hair, to tell him that everything would be alright. But Newt couldn’t do that anymore, because he was dead. And it was Theseus’ fault.

Swatting Grindelwald’s hand away he crawled back, his own fingers clawing at his face, his hair, leaving scratches that should have stung, but he didn’t feel anything. And all the time he whispered, “Nonononono!”

Grindelwald laughed. He fucking dared to laugh while Theseus slowly lost his mind, his whole being drawn in by the fact that his brother and his friend were dead. Dead because of him. He had failed them. Again. It was all his fault—always his fault. Why couldn’t he be better?

“How about we end it?” Theseus wanted to scream, wanted to tell him, “Yes please end it! Kill me!” But the words never left his mouth, only gurgling sounds escaping him.

“We don’t want them to suffer any longer, do we?”

It took time until the words reached Theseus’ brain. They didn’t make any sense. Who was suffering? Did he want to kill the creatures? If so, Theseus was too tired and too exhausted to care anyway. Should that madman kill them—and him too, it was okay.. There wasn’t anything worth living for anymore anyway. His will to live had died together with Newt and Percival.

But when Grindelwald didn’t pay any mind to the creatures and walked over to the bodies of his brother and his friend instead, Theseus’ mind gradually caught up. “They aren’t dead?” He croaked, disbelief lacing his voice like a silken blanket. He couldn’t believe it. It was impossible.

“Of course not,” Grindelwald said and even as he had his back to Theseus, Theseus was sure he was rolling his eyes.

A sudden wave of magic engulfed him and he couldn’t fight it. It dragged him over to Grindelwald, right next to Newt, and now he could see it. The slow rise and fall of his brother’s chest, ever so weak, but unmistakably there. Relief washed over him like a wave in a storm, almost drowning him, and he gasped. It was probably the first real breath that made it into his lungs, that kept his heart going again, that made him want to live again.

Grindelwald turned to him, wand raised. The collar, discarded on the ground by Percival before, came slowly floating over and fit itself snugly around Theseus’ neck again. He knew it should be calming, should soothe him like collars always did. But it only felt suffocating, made him want to claw at it, take it off.

“Listen to me.” Theseus’ eyes snapped to Grindelwald, thoughts about getting rid of the collar forgotten. “You will now watch while I kill your precious brother and Percy. This will be your punishment for disobeying me.”

Theseus could only nod, a whimper rising in his throat.

The whimper in his throat rose with Grindelwald’s wand through the air. He knew that motion, the killing curse. And it was aimed at Newt. The whimper soared through Theseus and formed into an animalistic snarl. He forgot all about being a wizard, being human. None of that mattered in a way. Without thoughts beyond “Newt” and “save” Theseus launched himself at Grindelwald. His fingers tore at the man’s face, teeth snapped in fury. Something snapped with a dry crunch and Grindelwald’s wand fell to the floor in two pieces. Theseus wasn’t done though. He turned on Grindelwald with a single-minded focus that had earned him his reputation in the war. Theseus may not have felt like the great hero everyone touted him to be. But he could be the killer that the war had moulded him into.

Newt and Percival lay motionless at his feet, far too much of a reminder of dead comrades that littered the battlegrounds outside the trenches. The past and the present blurred in Theseus’ mind. Here was a mad German wizard intent on killing and subduing. It didn’t matter that the war was over, Theseus was still fighting. He took a step closer to Grindelwald who cautiously moved further away. This was no pathetic excuse of a trumped up war hero he was facing now. It was the righteous fury of someone defending his family without a care for his own humanity. The scratches on Grindelwald’s cheek stung and he watched with morbid fascination as Theseus wrenched the collar from around his neck.

“I am not yours,” he spat. The collar whistled through the air on a wind of magic and hugged Grindelwald’s throat tightly. Too tightly. He began to feel lightheaded as he clawed at the leather wrapped around the column of his neck. By their feet Newt and Percival stirred, curling on their sides, coughing and gasping for air as the curses wore off. Something tickled the back of Theseus’ mind. Something Percival had said about the collar and leash. A wicked grin twisted his mouth and bared his teeth.

“Kneel for me.” He watched with sick fascination as the collar subdued the fight from Grindelwald, made him pliant to his will. “You will beg to be killed by the time I’m done with you.” Memories of soldiers, of his friends, begging for death in the battlefield clouded his mind. They wanted to end their misery, a misery they hadn’t asked for. They were all just trying to protect their country, their families. They didn’t deserve to die, but that was the kindest thing to do when grenades tore through their soft flesh and left behind broken men. Theseus sagged with the weight of the memories and staggered. A hand wrapped around his ankle and he startled. Newt looked up at him, face drawn and tired. All that was missing was the blood and the noise of the battlefield. Theseus half expected Newt to beg for death like countless others before him. And Newt did beg. But not for death.

“Please, Seus. He’s not worth it.”

He’s not worth it. Such simple words, yet they took the wind out of his sails. How many times had Newt told him that he was worth something to him? That he was worth the world? And his little brother, with a heart bigger than anybody else’s was begging him to spare a mad dark wizard. Not because he wanted the other to live. But because he didn’t think the other man was worth it. Some part of Theseus sneered in delight at being worth more than Grindelwald. He was finally worth more than someone else.

“I’d do it for you,” he eventually replied.

“I know. But you don’t have to. Let the law sort him out. Just, help me and Percy back onto the couch? Please?” His little brother, begging him for help. Theseus stumbled at that. Newt shouldn’t ever have to beg for anything, especially not from him. He glanced up at Grindelwald kneeling on the scorched floorboards.

“Stay,” he snapped and reached for Newt.

He grabbed his brother by the arms and hoisted him up. Newt came to stand on wobbly legs, leaning heavily against Theseus. But he didn’t mind, it felt good to have Newt pressed against him, to have the reassurance that he was still alive, still breathing. He wanted so badly to press a kiss to his brother’s temple but he didn’t dare do it. Instead he took slow steps towards the couch, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Grindelwald, who was thankfully still kneeling on the ground, sneering up at Theseus but not able to disobey the direct command.

Theseus let Newt sit on the couch before he turned around and walked to Percival to help him too. His friend was grunting, cursing quietly under his breath, while he put an arm around Theseus’ shoulders and hobbled to the couch.

As soon as they were both seated comfortably, albeit a bit battered and bruised here and there, Percival held out his wand for Theseus to take. His hand closed around it, not trembling once. He knew he had to make a call to the Ministry to get the aurors to take Grindelwald to Azkaban, away from them. And the wand in his hand felt familiar, like it always had when Percival had let him use it. Not that there was another option right now—his own wand was either destroyed or at the place Grindelwald had held him captive or at the Ministry. Who knew?

It didn’t matter right now. With all the strength he had left, Theseus thought about the first time he had had sex with Newt, thought about the feelings that had filled his body with warmth, thought about the words Newt had whispered into his ear to reassure him that he was wanted, thought about the feel of ribbon around his throat. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” With a burst his patronus sprang free from the wand, bathing the whole room in a bright glow, while it ran in a circle around them. Theseus pointed his wand to the window and the patronus followed its direction, sliding through the solid wall and running straight to the Ministry to inform the aurors of Grindelwald’s whereabouts.

It didn’t take long for the authorities to arrive and whisk the dark wizard away. Grindelwald was awfully pliant and didn’t make much of a fuss, leaving the Ministry officials astonished until Percival explained about the collar. One of the senior aurors stayed behind to take their testimonies of what had happened and reassured them that a healer was on their way to check on them. He was gently told off by all three of them—they didn’t need a healer. They needed time. They needed to talk.

All in all it took two hours until they were alone again, tired and exhausted in the destroyed living room, all sitting together on the torn couch. It had taken a few spells that had ripped the cushioning, but at least it could still carry their combined weight. They were silent, not a sound escaping them, resting. Then, without a word, Newt got his case to tend to the creatures Theseus had saved, to give them a new home and new hope. He didn’t stay long down there, maybe half an hour, just enough to let the poor beasts settle in.

When he came back into the living room, he plopped down next to Theseus again, all of them still not uttering a single word. It was somehow soothing, the quiet, like words weren’t needed. But deep down Theseus knew that they had to talk—sooner or later.

The silence was broken by Newt. “We need to talk,” he said, softly as always when he dealt with a scared creature—and Theseus _was_ a scared creature in that moment. His hand landed on Theseus’ thigh, rubbing soothing circles into the fabric, grimy from weeks in Grindelwald’s cell. But the warmth that spread through Theseus from the gesture chased away all lingering thoughts about the dark wizard, making him only concentrate on Newt. “Tell us what happened, brother?”

Theseus stared at his hands in his lap but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What was there to tell? He caved under Grindelwald, gave in to him, became his tamed pet and sucked him off. The shame of it all made his eyes burn with unshed tears.

“What’s there to tell?” He eventually managed to grit out. “He captured me because I wasn’t good enough. I gave in to him because I wasn’t strong enough. I …” he pressed a hand to his mouth to hold back not just the tears but also the involuntary gag at the thought of what had been in his mouth. The corner of his lips was still crusty with dry spend and he fought back the heave. The more he thought about it the worse it got.

“Hey, Thes. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Percival leaned over him and grabbed the hand still in his lap. Theseus clung on tightly. “Do you think because the darkest wizard captured you, you are weak?”

Theseus nodded miserably.

“And do you think that because he captured me, I am weak?” Percival pressed and Theseus’ eyes widened. He shook his head violently. Percival wasn’t weak. He’d been bested by the darkest wizard of their generation. There was no shame in that.

“But you never gave in,” he finally bit out.

“Didn’t I?” Percival looked at him with raised eyebrows. “He broke me in a different way. You craved affection, I had my pride. I think he broke both of us in very different ways.”

“What else happened?” Newt’s voice was soft on his other side. Theseus couldn’t bear to look at his little brother. Words eluded him, he didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to say just how pathetic and weak he was. He didn’t want to see his brother and his friend lose their misplaced belief in him. It was a foolish thing to wish for but it didn’t change a thing.

“Seus?” Newt gently probed again. In a snap judgement Theseus summoned his pensieve. Percival’s wand in hand he pulled the memory from his mind and flicked it into the bowl.

“See for yourself.”

The three of them tipped into the memory together. They stood at the back wall, watching Grindelwald taunt Theseus, burn his ribbon. Newt quietly slipped his hand into Theseus’ as he watched in silence. They followed Grindelwald and the now leashed Theseus into Grindelwald’s office where the animals were chained to the wall. Theseus couldn’t bring himself to look. He stared at the floor but he couldn’t block out the sounds of his own enthusiastic slurping. Arms pulled him in, his head was tucked into the crook of a neck and he was held, no, cradled so gently he thought he’d break. They stayed until the end, until Grindelwald had left the room in half light and Theseus collected the creatures. The stomach churning twist as they left the memory made Theseus go weak at the knees but the arms around him held true. Another set of arms wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he sobbed at no one in particular. Arms shifted around him as he was scooped up like some kind of doll and moved. He didn’t care where. Perhaps he’d be dumped on the front porch, door slammed shut behind him in disgust. Or even worse, he’d be taken out into the garden and left there like some guard dog that could only ever wishfully stare into the house in the hopes of becoming part of the family it was meant to protect. When his back hit something soft he gasped. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t be given any kind of kindness now. Not after what he’d done. His dirty clothes were spelled off him, he was left naked and exposed on the bed. But he was too tired to hide, shame had stripped him of everything and there was no point in fighting anything anymore. Bare arms moved him around, a firm body pressed against his back while another tucked his head under a stubbly chin.

“Rest for now, brother. We’ve got you.”

Theseus couldn’t resist, mind and body exhausted beyond belief, and being sandwiched between the two most important people in his life. Slowly he drifted off to sleep, not fighting it, not fighting anything. Any energy he might have felt while attacking Grindelwald had faded to nothingness, had left only a deep ache in his body.

  


* * *

 

He awoke several hours later, still pressed against two warm bodies, arms thrown over and around him, holding him, grounding him. Theseus had half a mind to close his eyes again and sleep for some hours more, but the sleepy voice of his brother kept him from doing so.

“How are you feeling?” Newt asked while yawning and nuzzling against Theseus’ cheek. It felt so intimate and utterly good, Theseus wanted to cry, wanted to hug his brother and snuggle against him, never letting him go. Instead of doing so, his body went tense and he tried to bring some space between himself and Newt—his brother surely didn’t want him to be so close. First of all, he wasn’t worth the love bestowed upon him, and second of all, he must reek, he was dirty, with dried cum and spit still on his face, a disgustingly crusty sensation.

But Newt didn’t seem to have the mind to let him go. No, his brother decided to sneak an arm around him and draw him back in, pressing their mouths together, chest pressed against chest. He could feel the calm rhythm of steady breathing and automatically began to breathe in sync. This felt … It felt good. So utterly good. Like it had been before Grindelwald had taken him.

The thought of Grindelwald let Theseus think about what was still on his face, crusting it in the most sickening way and he pulled away, not wanting his brother to kiss him while his mouth still tasted like cum. Like Grindelwald’s cum.

“I … I …” Theseus didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to express how defiled he felt. But Newt, ever clever and perceptive, caught on immediately. He smiled, his hand carding through Theseus’ hair, matted and greasy, clinging to his forehead.

“How about a bath?” He asked softly and Theseus couldn’t help but nod.

Behind him, Percival’s arms tightened around him and he could feel lips pressing against the back of his neck, hot breath grazing his skin. “Bath sounds good,” he rasped, his voice still hoarse from sleep. “Is your tub big enough for three?”

And somehow—this innocent, nearly mischievous question made a laugh rumble in his chest, made it bubble up his throat, until Theseus was shaking with silent mirth. But he didn’t stay silent, the quiet shaking shaping into a soft chuckle and then a full blown laugh, muffled against Newt’s chest. Tears were stinging at his eyes but it was the good kind, the kind born from laughter and happiness and maybe in this moment Theseus finally realised that these two people loved him exactly as he was. He didn’t need to pretend with them, didn’t need to be strong, didn’t need to be someone else. He could just be himself.

Gentle but strong hands turned him away from Newt and made him face Percival, who looked at him in awe. And Theseus was in awe himself, because he could feel his mouth stretching into a smile. A genuine, wide smile. His muscles didn’t really remember how to smile it seemed, as it hurt quite a bit to get this happy expression on his face.

“With a bit of spellwork the three of us will fit.” He surprised himself and the other two with answering directly to Percival’s face. It all seemed to fall into place and Theseus had never felt so at ease—now that Percival and Newt held him and didn’t intend to let him go. He didn’t even stop to wonder how Percival had suddenly found his way into Theseus and Newt’s relationship, but even if he thought about it, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was good as it was right now.

The three of them stumbled towards the bathroom, never losing contact. It felt nice, Theseus mused. His hand was clasped warmly in Newt’s as he led the way while Percival kept a hand on the small of his back. It was almost easy to forget their nudity and when the bathroom door shut behind them, there wasn’t the flinch Theseus had almost grown to expect. In fact it was only the slight chill to the air that reminded him of their lack of clothes. Hot water filled the tub, at first it was so hot it steamed up the room, warming it pleasantly. The water turned to something more bearable and Newt ushered Theseus into the tub. It was almost bizarre the way Newt and Percival doted on him. He didn’t deserve it, but it didn’t deter the other two. Newt helped Theseus sit in the tub and began to wash his hair while Percival helped slather him in a sweet smelling soap. He worked up each leg, massaging the sore muscles as he went. Theseus closed his eyes and let it happen. The damp cloth that wiped his face clean was soft and gentle, it erased all evidence of his weakness and left him feeling lighter. The shampoo was rinsed from his hair with careful fingers and Theseus sighed into the contact.

“Lean forwards a bit,” Newt whispered. Mindlessly his brother obeyed and Newt slid effortlessly behind him. Somewhere in front of him Percival uttered a spell and the bath shifted around them. The squeak of bare feet against the porcelain of the tub preceded the tangle of legs that intertwined with Theseus’. The expanded tub slowly filled with warm water that soothed Theseus into a loose pile of limbs. Fingers pressed into the muscles of his chest while Percival picked up his legs and plopped them into his lap to continue the massage. Quite simply it was bliss to let others take care of him so willingly and unconditionally. Soft kisses were pressed against his neck, along his jaw and below his ear. The hand on his calves moved up and by the time they got to his thighs they too were accompanied by small kisses. It was hard not to let his imagination run away with him into a fantasy that left him half hard with desire. A hand slipped between his thighs and teased him. He wanted to moan but it was choked off as fingers ran between his cheeks with a querying press. Theseus wasn’t sure what he wanted. He’d always been the one to take Newt before and if he was brutally honest with himself he was scared and intimidated by the idea of being the one receiving.

“Trust us,” Newt implored softly between kisses, linked the fingers of their hands together. Theseus let out a shaky breath and nodded.

“I trust you. Both of you.” A soft “thank you” was muttered against his stomach and Newt rewarded him with more kisses. When a wet finger breached him, Theseus let out a whine and tried to shift away. Two pairs of hands immediately soothed him, petting and stroking until he’d calmed.

“You okay to try again?” Newt asked him, mouth never stopping its kisses between words.

“Please,” Theseus replied and he braced himself for the intrusion this time. It felt odd, not quite painful but he didn’t understand how it could be pleasurable. But he decided to let it happen; if Newt and Percival wanted this, they deserved it, and a little discomfort wasn’t too much to ask of him in return for their pleasure. The second finger was harder to take, Theseus tried his hardest not to cry out and pull away. It burnt in a way nothing had before and he wasn’t sure if he could take much more. But the hands on his chest and the one skirting around his cock distracted him until the pain slowly abated. The lips around his cock came as a surprise and Theseus bucked up into Percival’s mouth. It jostled the fingers in him and it felt almost nice, nothing like he had expected. A pleasant shift with a tingle of something more. By the time a third finger was worked into him Theseus could feel Newt’s cock digging persistently into his back.

“I’m okay. I’m ready,” Theseus muttered and Percival pulled off him with a questioning look.

“There’s no rush, darling. We’ve got all the time you need.” Newt reassured him. Theseus shook his head stubbornly. He’d give what he could to his brother, this was the last thing he had to offer. Something that nobody had before and it would forever be Newt’s alone. After a little shifting around, Theseus found himself precariously balanced above Newt. Percival’s hands on his hips guided him while Newt’s hand rested on the back of his neck.

Newt’s thumb rubbed soothing circles over his skin and Theseus’ eyes fluttered shut.

“Look at me,” Percival urged softly and immediately his eyes snapped open again, fixing themselves on Percival’s. His friend looked at him, gaze warm and reassuring. “Breathe with me, relax. In, slowly—and out. In … and out. That’s good, you are doing so well.”

Theseus followed his instructions and felt the beat of his heart becoming slower, felt his body relax more with every breath he took, until he was soft and pliant in their hands. When his muscles weren’t the least bit tense anymore, they took it as their cue to lower him carefully down onto Newt’s hard cock. The breach felt somewhat strange, different from the fingers that had filled him before, the girth far wider, and Theseus let out an audible gasp. He had a feeling that he wasn’t able to take it—that he wasn’t ready. But he would do it for Newt, would do anything to make his brother happy, so he gritted his teeth.

“Go on.” His voice was faint and he wondered for a moment if they had even heard him.

A hand rested on his cheek, big and warm and calloused and Percival was looking at him with worry in his eyes. “At your own pace, take it slow. We are not in a rush, nor do we want you to get hurt. This should be a pleasure for all of us, so if it hurts or you don’t want to do something, you tell us and we will stop. Do you understand?”

Theseus nodded. It was a default motion by now. But the words took longer to process and when their meaning finally reached him, his eyes widened in shock. Could he really disappoint them like that? No, of course not. They had done so much for him and he didn’t deserve them. They still wanted to be with his sorry self, so the least he could do was to give them everything they deserved.

“Theseus, we mean it. Don’t push yourself,” Newt said into his ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down Theseus’ spine, like a warm, sunny summer’s breeze. It was soothing, calming in a way he hadn’t expected. He heaved a shuddering sigh and nodded again.

Barely trusting his own voice, he croaked, “Please wait.” His own hands searched for leverage to hold himself up, while his body got used to the intrusion of something as big as Newt’s cock. And—to his own astonishment—they waited, patiently. Percival’s hand never left its place, still stroking him tenderly, keeping him hard in his pitiful state. And Newt waited, hands rubbing relaxing patterns on his skin, making his muscles loosen up.

And finally he thought himself ready, lowering down slowly, at his own pace. It still wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it was bearable and Theseus was confident that he would get used to this strange feeling of having something inside of him. He had to stop two more times, but neither Newt nor Percival said anything, still waiting for him, still kissing him, massaging him, being tender and loving and everything he could wish for in this fucked up world.

It took a few minutes until he finally sat snug and completely filled in Newt’s lap, his brother’s arms wrapped around him, chin perched on his shoulder. And it was actually nice, his body accommodating to the new situation it found itself in. It was still straining, but it was a good kind. The kind that made his body ache in the best way possible, the kind that made his skin flush an unflattering red that didn’t go well with the colour of his hair and his freckles at all, the kind that made him pant and gasp whenever he shifted even slightly. It was good. It felt good.

“You ready?” Percival asked and nipped at his chin, making him jerk back in shock, shifting in Newt’s lap, eliciting a moan from his brother. Being able to draw such delicious sounds from him made the hairs on his arms stand up, goosebumps appearing all over his skin. He shifted again. And once more Newt moaned into his ear, arms tightening around him.

Theseus couldn’t suppress a small, victorious smile. “Yes, I’m ready.” His own voice sounded slightly out of breath and he realised what his body just went through, how exhausting it had to be for it. But it was worth it. If it made Newt and Percival happy, it would always be worth it. And with a start he realised that it made _him_ happy too. He liked this! He felt content and loved and he really wanted to have Newt inside of him, to pleasure both men currently sharing a hot bath with him.

Theseus let the other two take control. Newt’s hands on his hips gently urged him to shift, experiment with what felt good. The small lifts of his hip made it all overwhelming and Theseus’ mind wandered to the number of times he’d taken Newt with wild abandon and Newt had not just taken it, but seemed to love it. It gave him the courage to tilt his hips more and a small “oh” was kissed from his lips by Percival. The warm weight of the other man settled over him, their cocks pressed against each other and a hand wrapped around them. It felt as though the world had cocooned him in warm pleasure and Theseus was happy to drift.

Newt pushed up into him while his lips kissed along Theseus’ neck and Percival didn’t let up from his lips either. His tongue lapped along his lower lip before retreating shyly to coax Theseus to return the motion. It became a loop of lazy pleasure, Newt’s heartbeat steady against his back while Percival pushed down into him, his cock was almost secondary to the soft grounding of being caught between his two anchors. It made Theseus’ mind drift to how lucky he was, to have not one, but two people who were so willing to accept him as broken as he was. Except they didn’t make him feel broken, they made him feel like rusted treasure that they would lovingly shine until he gleamed in his own happiness.

His thoughts were rudely derailed by Percival nipping at his chin. “Not boring you are we?” He grinned and Theseus looked down bashfully. His friend took advantage of his dropped gaze and pulled away so he could have full view of their cocks in his hand. Newt’s chin hooked over his shoulder as he looked too.

“You’re beautiful,” Percival murmured.

“He’s right. You’re stunning. So good for us. You feel so good, Seus.” Newt’s hands left his hips and wrapped around his chest as he pushed up harder with sharp little thrusts. “Just look at you. I wish you could see what we see.”

Newt’s words were shaky, his grip around Theseus tightened and Percival began to thrust against Theseus in small pushes. The low burn in Theseus’ belly began to grow and he was utterly helpless to do anything other than accept the love and pleasure the other two gave him. Percival’s lips returned to his, stole his small gasps and helped stop his begging. Theseus tipped his head back against Newt’s shoulder and Percival’s lips worked down his throat as he strained to hold himself together.

“Let go, we’ve got you.” Newt’s voice in his ear and Percival’s breath on his collarbone was that final little push he needed. His whole body tightened up.

“That’s it.”

“So beautiful.” Theseus floated on his high, vaguely aware of Percival leaning over him to kiss Newt forcefully. The small thrusts of Newt’s hips sped up and caused small shockwaves to course through Theseus until Newt stilled under him with a bitten off cry. He held onto Theseus tightly, clutched him as though he were the one in need of grounding. Above him Percival’s groan preceded the feeling of something warm and wet splattering against their chests.

The feeling of Newt slipping from his body made Theseus take a shuddering breath. Warm hands turned him over to face Newt who kissed him while his hips were pulled up and out of the now dirty water. Fingers skirted around his hole and he pulled away shyly.

“He’s just checking to make sure you’re okay,” Newt reassured him between kisses. Theseus flushed and tried not to think about how weak the other two must see him, if they thought something as simple as sex could hurt him. “I can hear you thinking. And you’re wrong. We do it because we care. Because we love you.”

“He’s right you know,” Percival piped up. His hands ran up Theseus’ back, apparently satisfied that they’d not broken their partner. “We love you.”

It hit Theseus like a sack of bricks. They loved him. His perfect little brother and his powerful best friend loved him. Before he could get carried away on the heady thoughts, he spotted Newt’s grimace.

“Not to detract from this moment but the bath water is filthy. I think we need another shower. And then bed.”

Nobody disagreed with him and they pulled each other up to stand on shaky legs while the dirty water drained away and the fresh water from the taps warmed up.

They scrubbed each other down with soft washcloths, all gentle touches. Theseus didn’t have to do anything, just stand there, leaning against Percival, while Newt carefully worked on his sensitive skin, cleaning him up again. When he got to Theseus’ inner thighs, Theseus flinched, still too tender, still not used to be touched there.

“Sorry,” Newt whispered and shot him an apologetic smile, but Theseus thought that his brother shouldn’t be sorry. Not for this. Not for gently tending to him when he needed it the most.

He surprised himself by whispering back, “don’t be. It’s fine.” And his voice sounded hoarse, his throat a bit raw from bitten back moans. But his words did it and Newt continued to clean him between his legs, being utterly careful when he came to Theseus’ puffy, pink hole, rubbing it clean, getting rid of the remaining semen that was still dripping out of him.

And still, Theseus didn’t mind. He even enjoyed it. _Because you trust him_ , his mind suggested and Theseus could only agree. Yes, he trusted them; with his life and his mind, with his body and his soul. It was liberating, in some way, not to have to worry anymore.

When they were all clean, they rubbed him dry with a warm towel, again Theseus didn’t need to do anything. He wanted to, but he found himself far too exhausted to move much, his time at Grindelwald’s and their recent activities reminding him that he needed to rest, that he needed time to heal and to adjust to his life again. But he was certain that Newt and Percival would ease him into it, staying with him every step of the way.

It didn’t take long and he found himself in the bedroom again with Percival by his side. His friend had raised his wand, cleaning the bedsheets in record time, while Theseus was leaning heavily against him, eyes drooping. He was so tired.

“You can sleep soon, love,” Percival said into his ear, before kissing his temple and the warmth of his lips spread through Theseus’ body like wildfire, making him feel more alive than he had felt in months. This was what he had always wanted, what he had craved for so long.

He was slowly led to the bed and sat down, Percival making sure he was comfortable, wrapped in the freshly cleaned blanket, a pillow against his back, before settling down next to him. Theseus was reluctant to touch Percival, to do anything beside just sit there and fight sleep. But Percival took it in his own hands—literally—and wrapped his arm around Theseus, pulling him against his body, so his head could rest on his chest. And it was nice, it felt good. His eyes fell shut and he nuzzled up against Percival, seeking the reassurance of a warm body pressed to his own. He had never felt so relaxed.

The soft padding of naked feet made him open his eyes again, staring blearily at the door where Newt appeared, three mugs floating in front of him. _He looks like an angel_ , Theseus’ mind suggested and he snorted silently against Percival’s chest at the utter ridiculousness of the thought. Newt was anything but an angel and comparing him to one was just too corny—even for Theseus. But his pale skin and his auburn curls, freckles and scars all over his skin, gave him a glow like he was some supernatural being.

“What’s so funny?” He could feel Percival’s voice rumble through the chest his head was resting against, deep and soothing, but also amused.

He decided to answer—he could be honest with them, they wouldn’t laugh at him or leave him or anything. They had proved it time and time again. “My dazed mind compared Newt to an angel, despite him being a menace.”

That made them laugh and Theseus grin. And when Newt slipped into bed next to him, sandwiching him between them, pushing a hot mug with cocoa into his hands, everything was perfect.

“We should get you a new collar.”

_No. Now it’s perfect_ , Theseus thought to himself and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find us on Tumblr as [ladyoftheshrimp](https://ladyoftheshrimp.tumblr.com/) and [descaladumidera](https://descaladumidera.tumblr.com/) if you ever want to chat. :)


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